


Orange on the Waters

by Elleth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Human Sacrifice, Miracles, Númenor, Self-Sacrifice, walking through the fire like a badfuckingass bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 17:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth
Summary: Tar-Míriel is led to the temple in chains. She wears orange silk like flames, like the sunset on water.





	Orange on the Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).

Tar-Míriel is queen, but a queen without respect, without a throne, without a crown, without a loving husband.

Not that she would have chosen a husband if she could have helped it, remaining husbandless and childless if she could have had her way, the way of Tar-Telperiën. As the histories tell, anyway. (Few know that she was wedded, but there was no traditional marriage.) 

Tar-Míriel is landlocked, also, and lost to her is the one love she's had in her younger days, when the sun flamed orange across the water and Uinen would show herself, emerging from the water like an apparition, first water herself, then solidifying into human flesh, warm to touch and kiss in the orange sunrise, a promise of the west. 

This day, she is nervous. She is landlocked still in Armenelos - Ar-Minalêth crumbles like ashes in her mouth - and ashes she, too, might be, soon. 

For her husband has finally grown tired of her and her refusals and opposition where she hoped he would be indifferent at the very least, cavorting with his terrifying advisor. (Her husband, too, would be listed in the annals of the kings as having no wife, if he'd have his way. He strives to make it so.) 

Tar-Míriel is led to the temple in chains. She wears orange silk like flames, like the sunset on water, not the blue of Manwë as she perhaps should. And orange sunset, low under the clouds, glares off the temple's tarnished roof, spots of shine where the human grime has peeled away. 

She takes heart when it begins to rain. Just a soft, fine mist of water, but every drop catches the sunset and dips the scene into drama where it has been quiet before. Some mutter. There is a scream. Some murmur _witch_ \- as if! She laughs at that, unable to help herself - her husband gives her a shove forward across the temple doorstep. 

The rain and gentle caress are cut off, but her hair is wet and there are drops like familiar fingertips still on her skin. 

She is led down the middle aisle of the temple toward the flaming altar in the center. Her chains are loosened and she is prodded with a spear, just lightly to keep her going. She doesn't mind at this point; she knows she is not alone. 

She knows that the annals will not speak of this day, as they otherwise might. There will be no triumph for the king to speak of. 

Tar-Míriel steps onto the embers in shoes of orange silk to match her dress. The embers hiss, sputter, and gutter out in pools of water. The train of her dress drags behind her like flames, like the sunset on water, and the flames all around her bow and vanish and are extinguished, and Tar-Míriel walks through the fire unharmed, not one thread, not one hair on her singed. 

A drop of water lingers on her lips like a kiss, and she recognizes it for what it is, smiling.

She can hear the Zigûr rage a storm in the temple behind her, but there has been nothing short of a miracle this day, in the sight of all the stunned folk of Númenor. 

She has become untouchable. 

*

Tar-Míriel is no longer afraid of fire to her end. The orange glare of the Meneltarma reminds her of that day. 

She knows the water will come for her, and go over herself and over her island like a kiss, in the orange glare of the last sunset of Númenor.

**Author's Note:**

> Your tags were a thing of beauty. I hope this fits the bill. :D <3


End file.
